


riddle me this

by nebula5



Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-18 00:46:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11280240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nebula5/pseuds/nebula5
Summary: Kissing in the street is never a viable solution. Until of course, it is.





	riddle me this

 

 

It was only meant to be a walk, a simple evening stroll with his betrothed. Well, in truth they had planned to discuss their families’ common enemy, but it was meant to be an undisturbed walk nonetheless.  

Being trailed through the city by a pair of mysterious men was not something Benvolio had anticipated.

 

 

 

“Are they with you?” Rosaline asks, as they walk through the market, nodding towards the hooded figures lingering a few stalls behind them.

“No,” he says, squinting at them. The two men are armed, swords peeking out from beneath their cloaks, and they wear no colours or crests. The slightest twinge of unease begins to grow in his gut.

“Come.” He offers Rosaline his arm, and she takes it.

“Do you think they are working for that man? The same one as Tuccio?” She asks.

“Perhaps. But to what end I know not.” He glances over his shoulder again to see the men moving through the stalls, clearly following them.

Benvolio curses under his breath, considers running. He knows Rosaline is more than capable of holding her own in a chase. But there are too many people in the streets. There’s no way they would be able to outrun them in the crowd.

“This way,” he says, leading her down another street. They walk faster, turn corner after corner, and yet their pursuers are relentless.

“Montague,” Rosaline warns, and he can hear the worry in her voice.

He spots an alcove and drags her towards it, an idea forming out of desperation. He presses her back against the stone and steps into her space. This close, with her body flush against his own, Benvolio tries very hard not to think about the way her warmth seeps through all their clothing and right into his skin.

“What are you doing?” she hisses.

He pulls the hood of her cloak up over her head, hastily brushing her curls back behind her ears. “I am going to kiss you,” he answers.

“Are you mad?” she nearly cries, eyes wide. “They will catch us here! This is no time to be playing the part!”

“Trust me, Capulet,” he urges, bringing his hands up to cup her face.  

For a nervous second he thinks she will refuse, but she presses her lips into a thin line and nods once.

He takes a breath, before leaning close to kiss her.

The kiss is chaste, their lips clamped firmly shut. He tilts his head anyways, presses closer to her. Anyone looking their way would see a couple in the midst of a most indecent display of affection, and avert their eyes. He hopes their pursuers share the same sense of embarrassment as everyone else, and he does his best to shield the deep blue of Rosaline’s dress with his own body.

Benvolio thinks pointedly of horse riding and swordsmanship, gardens, and dinner plates, to distract himself from thinking of how lovely it feels to have Rosaline’s lips pressed against his own. He fails.

Long moments pass, and at last he leans away.

“Can you see them?”

Hidden by his shoulder, Rosaline scans the street. “They have gone.”

He sighs, relieved. “I told you you could trust me.”

“Hm,” is all she says, looking up at him intently.

For once Benvolio finds her expression inscrutable. He drops his hands from her face and moves to step back, but she keeps his collar fisted firmly in her hands.

She tugs him closer ever so slightly, and Benvolio finds he is powerless to resist. He is all too aware of their proximity, the mere inches between their faces, and the fact that she smells absolutely divine. Her eyes drop down to his mouth and Benvolio wonders if she can feel the way his heart is suddenly hammering in his chest.

 _Oh, for the love of God,_ he thinks, _what am I doing?_

He closes the distance between them and kisses her again.

It is different. When he tilts his head this time she responds in kind, and when he parts his lips, she yields as well.

Her hands slide tentatively beneath his collar to press against the skin of his neck, and then up to tangle into his hair. In turn he slides an arm around her waist, to pull her even closer against him. Her warmth and the taste of her are intoxicating, and suddenly all Benvolio can think of is Rosaline, Rosaline, Rosaline.

When did he start thinking of her as such, and instead of “that Capulet”?

He traces her lip with the tip of his tongue, and she moans, or he does, and then she pulls sharply away.

“Forgive me,” he says quietly. “I should not have—”

She shakes her head to interrupt him. “No. No, it was... pleasant.”

She reaches up to neaten his hair, and the corner of her mouth lifts in a half smile. When she looks at him her eyes are soft, and Benvolio feels a flutter in the pit of his stomach, the sudden pounding of his heart. _Oh god._

There is something undeniable between them. Not enemies any longer and yet not friends; a partnership. He steps out of the alcove, because he is quite sure he would have kissed her again if they stayed there. He inhales. Not-enemies-and-not-friends do not kiss passionately in the street. One day he will have to confront the odd feeling he gets when she is too near, but for now he banishes the thought from his mind.

He offers his arm to her once more. “Beloved,” he says, and it comes out gentler than he had intended.

She raises an eyebrow before taking his arm, and they make their way back to the Capulet mansion.

 

 

...

 

 

“I will see if I can find the identity of those two men,” he tells her, as they draw near to her home.

She nods. “And if I learn anything more I will let you know as well.”

She drops her hand from his arm and he misses her presence beside him entirely too much.

“Good night.”

“Good night, Capulet.”

He ducks his head and turns to leave when she calls after him.

“Benvolio.” The use of his first name startles him. “Thank you, for a most… exciting evening.”

He smiles. “It was my pleasure.”

“Be careful,” she says, and he knows that she means it. The fact of it starts up that flutter in his insides again. It is a strange feeling, to have someone so concerned over his well being. He likes it.

“Always, beloved.”

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> this pairing already fulfills so many tropes but let me also add "kissing, even though you don't really want to, to hide from enemies" 
> 
> (after writing this I also realize it might not actually work in the setting of the story, but l o l let me have this)
> 
> anyways i hope this show at least gets to finish the storyline before it gets cancelled : (


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